


it is war time, check your wrists

by meios



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Fights, Hell, M/M, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9906077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meios/pseuds/meios
Summary: (ready kids?)





	

They look at each other from opposite sides of the room, very different people on very different worlds.

 

Here, they are unholy, un-wholly like diamonds bathed in the blood of the servants, skeletons tattered and left as little more than bird feed in the sun; they stimmy the emotions that desperately attempt to crawl up from inside of them and in doing so can only bring about guttural sounds from the back of their throats.

 

They meet in the middle like waterfalls, punches hitting more than armor and skin, fracturing what keeps them held together, all glue and tape, and when one bites down on their tongue, severing what little they have ripped off, they spit it onto the ground and keep going. Their masks are off: this is less about identities and more about silence, about the broken mirrors in their heads that reflect both image and sound, memories chewed up and disposed of even though they keep on crawling back.

 

They see their reflections in each other’s eyes, close enough to count every rivulet in the iris, enough to flutter lashes into each other, congealed in blood and sweat, melding together to form something deeper. There is another punch and the shout of a name, a body crumbling to the floor before the other body follows.

 

Come together like animals, they do, never soft, always repression preceding feeling, always the storm before the hurricane, and there is another gasp of Jason’s name and then silence, the broken tongue sweeping over Bruce’s teeth casting them crimson. On his cheek, there is a scar like always, branded into him, a reminder, and Bruce attempts to cover it with Kevlar like protection too late. And they bring themselves to release the only way they know how: violently, quickly, ignoring tears and calling them drops of sweat instead.

 

The bite on Bruce’s lip feels like the clash of a crowbar.

 

Jason leaves, he always leaves, when they finish, back to the shadows from whence he came, from whence he had been found, and from whence he had been delivered again: Hell opens up and swallows them whole.


End file.
